


bruised and black and lame

by crownedcarl



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Dubious Consent, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Pining, Power Imbalance, Prison Sex, Teenage Drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-21 22:18:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17650940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crownedcarl/pseuds/crownedcarl
Summary: He’s never been kissed like this, before, hard enough that it hurts and leaves him out of breath, but Joaquin has to remember that this is what he wanted. He can’t back down, now.





	bruised and black and lame

**Author's Note:**

> title from guilty by marina and the diamonds. this is a spinoff slash alternate take of my previous joarchie fic (you go nowhere at all) because i wanted to take a stab at a darker dynamic, hence the dubious consent tag. please, heed the tag, since it does come into play in a big way in this story. also, don't @ me about the snow/winter setting bc i'm pretending they've been locked up for a while longer than the show could be bothered to, so. it's winter
> 
> also i haven't written smut in ages so? forgive me and my shitty writing? beyond that, i hope the five other people sailing with this ship enjoy the story!

Joaquin runs hot.

Two layers into the September chill, Archie is shivering beside him, huddled into his sweatshirt and windbreaker, cheeks bitten pink by the cold air whipping around the corner, coming at him mercilessly with no intention of stopping. It makes his hair move around his face in a frenzy, leaving it in disarray.

He looks at Archie while Archie looks away - that’s how it is. Careful, subdued glances are the name of the game, Joaquin drinking his fill while Archie chews at his thumbnail or worries at the edge of his sleeve, always moving, never knowing how to sit still.

Inhaling slowly, Joaquin shifts his weight, letting his elbow nudge against Archie’s arm, where the muscle is firm and shivering under the skin, feeling strangely fragile. Archie has the first snow of the year clinging to his lashes, leaving tracks on his cheeks when he blinks, chewing his lip with perfect teeth, pink tongue darting out to lick his lips. It takes so much effort not to stare.

The way Archie moves ignites something in Joaquin, squirming and panicked, his heart beating faster than a hummingbird’s wings. All he’s ever wanted is right there, but Joaquin still can’t reach out and touch.

“Pussy,” he tells Archie before he shrugs out of his own jacket, layering it carelessly across Archie’s shoulders, trying not to smile when it stops Archie dead in his tracks. There’s the familiar confusion clouding Archie’s eyes, knowing not to trust any kindness, having learned the hard way that it never comes without a motive. “What? You’re shaking.”

Archie has a furrow between his brows, tight and weary. “I noticed,” he bites out, “What’s it to you, though?”

His hands are pink, knuckles cracking and split, bleeding. He doesn’t look like the same boy that Joaquin remembers, all traces of softness erased from his frame, his jaw, his deep dark eyes. If he looks for long enough, Joaquin could almost pinpoint the flecks of gold in that gaze.

He looks at Archie’s throat, instead, wondering how his pulse would taste under Joaquin’s tongue and reckless teeth. “You wanna freeze, Andrews? Give it back if you don’t want it.”

“I don’t want your games, Joaquin. No strings attached, I’ll take it.”

His mouth is dry, tongue pressed to the very roof of it. It reminds him of something, the way Archie can’t seem to look him in the eyes, but Joaquin can’t put his finger on it. Maybe it’s the way the junkyard dog down by the tracks had always looked at people, trying to figure out who it could trust. Archie’s a different beast, though.

“No strings at all,” Joaquin says, lying through his teeth, because all he wants is to throw Archie down onto the hard ground and fuck him, more than once, aching to put some bruises on the skin of Archie’s chest. “None. Take the damn jacket, already.”

-

Archie doesn’t do things because he wants to.

No, that’s not right. He does, sometimes. Most of the time, though, Archie does things because he thinks he’s supposed to, or because he thinks he needs to be the kind of person who wants to. Kissing Joaquin back, that’s not because he wants to.

A minute ago, his hands were fisted in Joaquin’s sweatshirt, body bracketing Joaquin’s against the wall, cornering him in this dark hallway, eyes staring wildly down at Joaquin, both of them breathing heavily. “You don’t know when to stop, do you?” Archie snaps, heaving chest against Joaquin’s. He’s cold, even now. Joaquin can feel it where he’s gripping Archie’s hips, forcing him closer, forcing him into a situation he won’t know how to get out of.

Maybe that’s not the right way to do things, but Joaquin wants it so fucking much it’s eating him alive. Archie shivers, eyes narrowing, one hand going to Joaquin’s throat, spreading out and squeezing. “I told you to stop.”

“You did,” Joaquin chuckles, nails scratching against Archie’s lower back. He’s firm all over, hard and tense. “You don’t want to, walk away. It’s that easy.”

It isn’t and they both know it. Archie wants the protection of the Serpents, he’ll have to give something in return and Joaquin has finally come to collect.

“There are worse ways to do this,” Joaquin whispers, one hand spread flat against Archie’s spine, trailing a little lower, heavy with suggestion. “You scratch my back and I scratch yours. That’s how this works.”

“You really mean that,” Archie says, voice low and flat. “You don’t give me a choice, you’re gonna have to live with that.”

“I’ve lived with worse things,” Joaquin spits, “Besides, I don’t fucking see you complaining.”

No, Archie is shockingly pliant, letting Joaquin’s leg fit between his own, knee pressed almost warningly against Archie’s cock, but there’s no denying that Archie is interested. He’s shivering, hard and sensitive, flinching back from Joaquin’s touch. “Andrews,” Joaquin groans, tilting his head, staring at that pink mouth, “I know what no means. Don’t you think otherwise. Thing is,” he continues, “Guys get lonely in here. You’re lonely, too. Way I see it, you get the sweet end of the deal.”

Archie wants to run away and hide, Joaquin can see that plain as day, but something keeps him rooted to the spot, slowly leaning closer, close enough that their foreheads are brushing. It makes it easy for Joaquin to kiss him, to slip his tongue into Archie’s mouth, making a second home behind the rows of his teeth, trying to get deeper.

He’s ashamed, deep down, but there’s no time for second-guessing. “Say it,” Joaquin demands, then begs. “Say it, Archie. Come on.”

Archie doesn't speak a word. He cups a hand at the back of Joaquin’s head and kisses him, instead, hard and with teeth, cheek warm where Joaquin traces it with the back of his hand, tugging sharply at a lock of messy hair. He’s never been kissed like this, before, hard enough that it hurts and leaves him out of breath, but Joaquin has to remember that this is what he wanted. He can’t back down, now.

“Alright,” Archie whispers, a note of defeat in his voice. “Fine. You keep me safe, I’ll…”

He trails off, not knowing how to say it. Joaquin decides to let it go. “Yeah,” he eventually agrees, “That sounds good. C’mere.”

It’s easy, maneuvering Archie. Joaquin frowns, though, at the tense line of Archie’s back, pausing with his mouth on Archie’s throat, deciding to go ahead, giving it a minute, letting Archie get used to the way his palms are spread flat against the exposed brick, chest flush with the wall, forehead resting against the unforgiving texture.

“You need to relax,” Joaquin comments. “I’m not about to hurt you.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

Yeah, he kind of deserves that. There’s no way to justify the corner he’s backed Archie into, but Joaquin does take offense, gritting his teeth, backing up a step from Archie and faltering when Archie immediately relaxes, staring at his face as it goes from pinched and nervous to relaxed, mouth parting on a gasp. “You can think what you want,” Joaquin tells him, arms crossed, “But you’re either down with this or you’re not. Either fucking relax and let me do you a favor, or don’t, but make your mind up.”

It’s politics, as simple as they can get: you do me a solid and I’ll do you one. “I get that,” Archie sighs, mustering up the courage to turn around and tug Joaquin closer, fingers tight around his wrist. “I do, believe me. Just…”

“What?” Joaquin has to ask when Archie stops there, staring down at the ground, losing all the bravery from before. “Tell me.”

“It wouldn’t kill you to kiss me, Joaquin. You know? Maybe I can’t relax when you’re handling me like a piece of meat.”

Joaquin blinks. These things matter to Archie, still, the illusion of intimacy with Joaquin. It shouldn’t matter, but Joaquin stares down at him, softening, kissing Archie without it feeling like a power play, tongue soft against Archie’s lips, feeling them part slowly, hesitantly, his teeth gentle against the underside of Joaquin’s tongue, Archie sighing softly against Joaquin’s mouth, into it. “Better?” Joaquin asks, without any bite, almost smiling.

It’s hard not to see the appeal to the softness. “Much,” Archie answers, his eyes half-lidded, lashes almost touching his cheekbones. “Thanks, I guess. That’s - that’s really all I wanted.”

 _Fuck,_ it’s impossible to come back from this. Archie looks at him searchingly, then leans forward half an inch, hesitant, before kissing Joaquin like he’s terrified of not being allowed, pushing closer when Joaquin doesn’t protest, fingers on Archie’s jaw to urge him a little closer. “It’s not half bad,” Joaquin says, teeth snagging on Archie’s lower lip, whole body lighting up with heat when Archie finally fucking moans, low and needy. “I want you to like it, too. I told you.”

“I do,” Archie blurts, “I like it enough, at least.”

“That’s romantic.”

Pink-cheeked, Archie groans “Shut up, Joaquin, don’t you have something better to do with your mouth?”

If that’s not a suggestion, Joaquin doesn’t know what is. “Sure, yeah,” he chuckles, remembering to kiss Archie as his hands unfasten the drawstring thread of his sweatpants, listening to all of Archie’s little noises, trying to coax more of them out, trying not to care about how Archie flinches at the hand Joaquin places on his thigh. They made a deal; Archie’s got to learn to honor it.

-

There’s a bruise on Archie’s thigh that Joaquin knows he didn’t put there.

Keeping Archie safe has gotten a lot more complicated, considering the warden and his little arena and the games and the bets. “Alright?” Joaquin asks, nodding at the green mark, the flesh mottled and broken in the very center. Someone kicking him while he’s down, maybe.

“Yeah,” is all Archie tells him, laying on his back, arm across his stomach. His knuckles are bruised. “I’ll live.”

“That’s not what I asked, though.”

Archie rolls his eyes, but he lets Joaquin settle beside him, thumb pressing into the bruise, watching Archie flinch and hiss at the pressure, batting Joaquin’s hand away. “I’m fine,” he insists, scowling. “Fucking fine, alright?”

Joaquin grabs his chin, forcing Archie to look at him. “Liar,” he says, letting Archie jerk his head free, staring up at the ceiling. He’s always got these bruises, nowadays, ever since he put his life on the line for Joaquin, which is something that neither of them seem capable of forgetting. It should nullify the deal, all things considered, but Archie still comes to Joaquin’s cell and lets himself be used, gasping half from pain and half from pleasure, so many places on his body left tender and raw and bruised, despite how careful Joaquin tries to be.

He can’t avoid touching the fucking bruises when they’re all over, painted black and purple on Archie’s skin. “Archie,” Joaquin sighs, grabbing his hand, turning it over to have a look at the knuckles, wincing in sympathy at the scabs and split-open skin. “I could take care of this, you know. Could at least get you something for the pain.”

“No thanks.”

He’s been stubborn about that the whole time, Joaquin notices. Doesn’t want to be fussed over, doesn’t want the pills, doesn’t want to be weak. “Alright. Scoot over.”

Archie obliges, but he moves stiffly, one hand going to his abdomen. He flinches so often, lately, that Joaquin almost can’t stand to touch him. Only almost, though.

He settles between Archie’s legs, leaning down to kiss Archie, slow and steady pressure against his dry lips, feeling Archie relax a little more with every second. “You need to relax,” Joaquin whispers, his hand reaching up beneath Archie’s shirt to touch him. “Let me help you.”

“Don’t,” Archie croaks, sweat standing on his brow as Joaquin brushes against his hip, a full-bodied spasm wracking Archie so suddenly that Joaquin freezes, staring down at Archie in surprise. “That’s - that hurts.”

“What-?”

There’s a brand on Archie’s hip, deep and dark and raw. It takes a lot of effort to look away from it, but when he looks at Archie’s face instead, there’s a tremble to his mouth that tells Joaquin he really doesn’t want to talk about it.

Alright. Joaquin can work with that. He flattens his palm to Archie’s stomach, watching the muscle twitch, half a smile in the corner of his mouth, pressing it to the undamaged hipbone, relishing in Archie’s soft sigh. “I’ll take your mind off of it,” Joaquin promises, pushing Archie’s shirt higher until it bunches at his chest, tugging his pants down, dragging them off his legs, letting them fall in a tangle to the floor. “Close your eyes.”

He doesn’t know if Archie does it or not, because Joaquin is occupied, mouthing messy kisses down those sculpted thighs, taking his fill of smooth skin and strong muscle, sucking a bruise into the crease between thigh and hip, listening to Archie gasp, all damaged and shivering, like it hurts. It might, but Joaquin doesn’t ask. He doesn’t want Archie distracted.

It’s easy to get Archie to bend his legs, to let Joaquin undress him until he’s half naked, glancing up to see Archie with an arm thrown across his eyes and breathing heavily, biting his lip until it’s raw. It’s tempting to kiss him, but Joaquin stays between his knees, savoring every sound he manages to coax from Archie and his body, still unyielding and tense. It relaxes a fraction once Joaquin smooths his hands down Archie’s legs, tickling the underside of Archie’s knees until he laughs abruptly, curling into himself.

“There you go,” Joaquin grins, pushing lightly for Archie to roll over. “Come on, turn around.”

Once Archie is settled down with his head pillowed in his arms, Joaquin makes a path down Archie’s spine with his mouth, dipping his tongue into the dimples on either side of the curve of his lower back, tasting the dried sweat on Archie’s skin, blood faintly clinging to his tongue.

Joaquin wants. That’s the beginning and end of everything.

He hums, tracing the curve of Archie’s ass, thumb stroking across the pale, smooth skin. He wants to do a lot of things to Archie, but this isn’t for Joaquin. This is for Archie, for his body to have a moment’s rest.

For a second, Joaquin thinks Archie might protest; it’s not something they do, not something Joaquin has asked Archie about, but when he urges Archie’s hips a little higher and mouths at him, all Archie does is whine into his arms, his body incredibly warm where Joaquin touches him, trying to keep him relaxed. “Joaquin,” Archie manages in a voice that’s so fractured it’s practically nonexistent, “Oh, god.”

“You’re good,” Joaquin whispers, squeezing Archie’s ass, spreading him open. “Relax. I’ll take care of you.”

He knows Archie might not trust him with a lot, but Archie trusts him with this. Something in his body gives, like a string being cut, face hidden in his arms, thighs spreading apart slowly. It must be the first time Archie is doing this, but Joaquin knows better than to embarrass him by asking, because pride has always been a big thing between them, since the moment they struck a deal in the wrong way for all the wrong reasons.

Archie doesn’t want to be weak. Joaquin exhales, stroking Archie’s back, feeling him shudder all the way from the inside, tight around Joaquin’s tongue, hot and smooth and moving with abandon, letting Joaquin set the pace. It’s such a small fucking thing, Archie allowing Joaquin all the control, but it settles deep in his stomach and makes his head spin, breathing shallowly against Archie.

“I want to,” Archie huffs, hands curled in the sheets, “I want - Joaquin, I want you to fuck me,” and the words come out so desperate that Joaquin feels them like a punch to the gut, breathing hot and wet against Archie, gently thumbing at him, feeling him shudder. “Jesus, please-”

He’s been so deep inside Archie he’s never going to be able to forget the feeling, but there’s no rush to get there again. “No,” Joaquin says, “This is for you, Andrews. Let me.”

 _“Joaquin,”_ Archie groans, “Fuck. Please don’t - please don’t make me wait.”

“You can handle it. Relax, princess. I got you, don’t I?”

He can see Archie glancing at him over his shoulder, eyes wide and dark and heated, lower lip caught between his teeth. “Yeah,” Archie whispers, relaxing back into the cot, canting his hips back, cheeks dark with a blush. “Come on.”

Joaquin wants to kiss him. He can’t bring himself to leave the comforting cradle of Archie’s thighs, so he settles for pulling his hand to his mouth, kissing the palm of it and feeling Archie’s toes curl against his shins, like something so small means so much to him, his mouth moving in a little smile while Joaquin nips at his fingertips, letting him go after a moment. It takes all his strength not to give in to Archie’s demands, but Joaquin traces the cleft of his ass and mouths at him slowly, softly, barely-there brushes of his lips that leave Archie shivering helplessly, like he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

Maybe he doesn’t. Maybe Joaquin can help with that.

“It feel good?” he asks, hearing Archie’s answering hum, deep and low and pleased. It keeps surprising Joaquin, the way that Archie can be so vulnerable and open when everything in his life has come crashing down, but he trusts Joaquin with this, at least. At the very least, he feels comfortable letting Joaquin soothe his aches. “Do what feels good. You don’t have to be still.”

It’s the magic words to break the dam wide open. Archie jolts with the first flat press of Joaquin’s tongue, finally letting himself move instead of forcing himself to remain still, knees pressing hard into the thin mattress, banging the frame against the wall, making them both freeze. It takes a moment before Joaquin remembers that they’re safe, sequestered away from prying eyes, laughing thinly before breaking into real chuckles. “That good, huh,” he mumbles, feeling Archie shaking beneath him, laughing silently.

It feels good to laugh. “Hey,” Archie whispers, “Can I tell you something?”

“Yeah,” Joaquin breathes, smile turning sharp when Archie gasps and writhes around the finger Joaquin gently presses inside him, Archie tightening breathtakingly around him. “Go ahead.”

“I’m, I-” Archie moans, like he’s using all his remaining strength to get the words out, hips twisting, pushing down on Joaquin’s finger, his tongue, moving like he was made for this. “I’m, Joaquin - I’m glad we met. That we, ah, had the chance. For this.”

It’s jumbled and a little incoherent, but Joaquin understands. Hates that he does, but he understands what Archie is trying to say; he’s not happy that he’s in here, or that Joaquin is, but the fact that they have this, something for the two of them to know, with no fucking spectators or intruders - that’s what matters, in the end, behind these walls. “Me, too,” Joaquin croaks, embarrassed at how his voice breaks.

He’s not supposed to be in this deep, but Archie makes Joaquin feel like a different person, a better person. It’s terrifying, feeling like he’s fumbling in the dark, wondering what to do, where to go, wanting so badly to kiss Archie and do nothing else for days.

“When we get out,” Joaquin says, not knowing what the hell is making him so bold, so reckless, talking about things that’ll never happen, “I’m gonna keep you, Andrews. Won’t leave you alone.”

A harsh tremor travels down Archie’s spine, his thighs clenching around Joaquin’s frame, squeezing his shoulders. “Yeah,” Joaquin groans, resting his forehead against Archie’s lower back, two fingers deep inside him, “You want to be mine?”

It makes him lightheaded, having Archie suddenly turn over, reaching desperately for Joaquin’s shoulders to drag him closer and kiss him until it feels like there’s no air left in his lungs or in the room, his back awkwardly hitting the wall, making him hiss. “Joaquin,” Archie moans, settling in Joaquin’s lap, grinding down hard, hands flying to Joaquin’s hips, “Please, please, you’re killing me, _fuck.”_

Hunger pangs, that’s what Joaquin has. He wants to push Archie down and ruin him, but his hands end up tender on Archie’s waist, urging him closer, wishing there was a way for this to be sustainable, something that might have a chance of lasting. “Come here, come on,” Joaquin groans, halfway to losing his mind already, grasping at every part of Archie that he can reach, fumbling to get himself ready, fingers slick with precome working down his cock, dragging Archie that half inch closer and then down, gasping into the hollow of Archie’s throat.

There’s laughter building in Archie’s mouth; Joaquin can almost taste it when he kisses Archie, ending up laughing, too, through the heat and the pleasure and the awful, intimate knowledge that this can’t possibly end well for either of them. There’s no point in mentioning it, now, so Joaquin puts his mouth against Archie’s again and breathes, eyes squeezed shut, fingers drifting down Archie’s face.

“If you’re gonna keep me, we should run away,” Archie mumbles, moving slowly, breath hitching in his throat. “Away from Riverdale. Keep me somewhere else.”

Joaquin can’t say _I will,_ because he and Archie are lying to each other and they both know it, too. “That’s a nice thought,” Joaquin whispers, cupping Archie’s face, trying to smile. “A really nice thought, Archie.”

A fantasy, at best, but it still makes Joaquin feel warm in a way he hasn't experienced in years. It's all he's got, this thing where he gets to pretend that Archie is his, tilting his head up, gathering Archie closer, arms around his body, cradling him near like he's something precious. "Stop thinking so hard," Joaquin murmurs, breathing against Archie's hair, hands gripping him tight, shuddering and not knowing how to stop.

"Some day," he thinks he hears Archie say, but it's lost in the roar of his own heart beating frantically in his ears, black spots in his vision when he looks at Archie, closing his eyes so he won't have to see the naked longing on Archie's face, "Some day, Joaquin, we'll get there," and if Joaquin could convince himself to believe in anything, he'd want to believe in Archie. For now, he drifts back to his body, to his body inside Archie's body, the light illuminating Archie's face, letting Joaquin be lulled into the false pretense that everything is alright, that this can last: that he can have what he wants, this once.


End file.
